


Femininity

by RedRosella



Series: Bigender Darkiplier [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Bigender Darkiplier, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Wilford/Dark, Spoilers, unintentional misgendering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 00:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRosella/pseuds/RedRosella
Summary: Some days Dark wasn't a man. Some days she was a woman.(Who Killed Markiplier Spoilers)





	Femininity

**Author's Note:**

> You can pry Bigender Darkiplier from my cold dead hands!

“She/Her pronouns today,” Dark said quietly to Wilford, passing him on the way to the meeting room. Most of the other egos were already there, ready to spitball ideas for how to take over Mark’s channel and then eventually just end up doing their own things for the rest of the day when that fell through.

Wilford nodded in reply, continuing to work on his most recent script without a second thought. Dark nodded back, feeling a bit more satisfied. It didn’t really matter if Wilford knew it was a feminine day because they almost never talked one on one, and she would murder him if he said anything to the other egos, but she felt just a little better knowing that at least one person knew in the long run.

She couldn’t let the other egos know about her past and risk them thinking she was weak. That meant they couldn’t know that she wasn’t one person. That she was the conglomeration of three broken people, pushed together into one being fueled by revenge and betrayal. That this caused her to have days where Celine- wonderful, beautiful Celine- would be more present, causing Dark to prefer she/her pronouns.

As Dark walked closer to the room, she could hear The Host casually narrating the things happening inside the meeting room, a common nervous tick of his when there was too much silence. He had explained once before that it was because without any sound filling the void he felt like he was sans two of his senses instead of just one.

Dark pushed open the door, quickly assessing the room in a single glance. It seemed that she was the second to last ego in today, Wilford being the one lagging behind as always.

The Host continued his rambling. “Darkiplier walks into the room. She strolls over to her chair, then stops, staring at The Host in concealed shock. Everyone in the room looks at her.”

It was true. Dark was staring at The Host, barely concealed shock tearing at her seams, rippling through her form.

“Shut. Up. Host.” She grit out, wringing her hands in the air like she was gripping something that wasn’t there. A familiar reflex from the past.

This is not how she wanted to be outed. If she had her way, she’d never be out, no matter how male pronouns felt like knives sometimes. She couldn’t let them think she was weak. She couldn’t afford it.

“The Host does not understand. He was simply narrating what she was doing,” Host replied.

Everyone in the room could see Dark’s shell beginning to crack, although instead of the red and blue echo that usually surrounded her when it happened, this time it was almost entirely red.

“Um, Host, I know you're blind, but Dark isn't a woman,” Bim spoke up, finally gathering the courage to break the thick silence that had descended upon the room.

“She is today. The Host is never incorrect. He simply narrates the world around him.”

 

“I know you liked to manipulate people’s lives when you were The Author, but I thought you were past that, Host,” Silver Shepard admonished, trying to stop The Host from making the situation any worse, lest they bear the full front of her ire. “You can't try to change a person’s identity for your own amusement.”

“The Host is not manipulating anything,” Host replied, words more tense than before, not wanting to be challenged on something he held pride in being exceptionally skilled at.

“You can’t just change someone’s sex, Host,” Dr. Iplier said angrily. “Dark is a ma-.”

Suddenly, everyone stopped, frozen in their tracks as the color seemed to drain out of the room from every corner. Dark was twitching violently, her shell cracking at the seams, a thousand splinters trailing down her body. No one knew what was going to happen next until-

“Celine.”

Dark froze. Wilford had come up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around and in the corner of her eye she could see the egos flinching back, prepared for her to lash out at Wilford. Instead she simply stared at him, relaxing just slightly as she saw him standing there, a comforting and familiar presence.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, motioning his his head toward the door and guiding her away from the room with his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t protest for once. None of the egos said anything as they left, afraid to shatter the tentative peace that might have just saved their lives.

Once they were outside the room and walking down the hallway, Wilford asked softly, “Do you want me to help you put on some eyeliner?”

She was about to scoff and say that she could do it herself, but she stopped herself. She knew she honestly couldn’t- Celine’s muscle memory in that regard hadn’t translated to this body- and she really did want to have some eyeliner on.

“Fine,” she replied stubbornly, letting Wil lead her to a room out of the way. There he began to apply the dark eyeliner around her eyes with perfect accuracy, not saying anything else, just letting the comfortable silence surround them. They didn’t need words.

Wilford. Her oldest friend. Her old lover in one sense, despite the fact that she was no longer that person and neither was he. It was in these moments that she felt the most peaceful. The most human. Where the rage and revenge that fueled her existence seemed to simmer down just slightly, allowing the three people that fused to create her to calm, reminding her of the old days. The days when it was just her and Wilford, where she didn’t always have to worry about enacting her revenge on the man who stole her- Damien’s- body. Reminding her of the days when she was three separate people, none of them weighed down by the constant agony of murder and desire for vengeance.

After Wil completed her eyeliner he moved on to bringing out some black nail polish, carefully applying it to her nails without a word.

They stayed like this for a long while, falling into an almost meditative state, the repetitive action of painting her nails lulling them into a calm trance. Finally, the silence was broken as Wilford stood up.

“I'm going to go… _talk_ to the others,” he said, pulling out his gun with a wink and a smirk. Dark didn’t do anything to stop him, simply watching him leave with the shadow of a smile gracing her lips.

She could work with this. The others could know her identity, and if thought her weak because of it then she would simply show them the full extent of her powers until they understood exactly what she was capable of. Then none of them would ever question her again. That is, if Wilford didn’t get to them first.

\-----

The next week when Dark was feeling feminine again and walked into the meeting room ready for another day of accomplishing nothing, The Host narrated her walking to her seat with feminine pronouns. No one even blinked.

It was a nice feeling.


End file.
